St. Valentine's Day. 195 



" Doctor," said my friend, applying the two fore fingers of 

 his left hand to remove the fag end of his cigar from between 

 his lips, and sending forth a continuous stream of smoke in 

 a right line at least eighteen inches beyond his nose, at the 

 end of which journey it turned at a right angle like the 

 triangular shot at Antwerp; — "Doctor," said he, a name by 

 which he always calls me, although I am neither D.D. nor 

 LL.D. : " Doctor, who is this Rusticus who writes for 

 Loudon ? " No reply. " About shooting in the Isle of 

 Wight, you know: have you any idea who it can be?" I 

 was very busy picking to pieces a sham moss rose, of last 

 summer, which I had just found in the hedge : my silence 

 seemed to excite his suspicion: he turned sharply round, — we 

 were sitting on a stile at Northbrook. " Doctor, you don't 

 know Rusticus ?" " No, not I," I replied, much relieved 

 by the question; for I'm sure I don't know myself. My 

 friend replaced his cigar. " I heard," said I, " at Stedman's, 



the other evening, that it was ." " Not likely," was 



the reply, followed by a vigorous attempt to draw the cigar 

 into life again; it was of no use; it had expired, leaving 

 about an eighth of an inch unconsumed. 



[Habits of the Weasel.'] At this moment a very large rat 

 came bustling down the hedge just before us, bringing with 

 him a lot of loose earth : my friend was just jumping down 

 for a stone to whirl at him, when a little bit of a weasel fol- 

 lowed the rat down the bank, holding his head well up, like 

 a fox-hound running breast-high. The rat had crossed the 

 path, and got into a little low bank on the other side of the 

 footpath, over which he scrambled, and came out among 

 some Swede turnips in the adjoining field, at the very mo- 

 ment the weasel went into the low bank hunting him. The 

 turnips were so small, and so far apart, that we did not once 

 lose sight of the rat. He ran in and out among them, con- 

 tinually crossing his own track, and then, making a little 

 circle, he came to the bank a good way from where we sat, 

 and, climbing over it, got into the footpath about a hundred 

 yards from us ; he then ran towards us with all his might, 

 straight along the middle of the path, and passed under the 

 stile on which we were perched, motionless, yet happy, as the 

 statues of Tam o'Shanter and Souter Johnny, and about ten 

 yards behind us he went into the thick bank, and was lost to 

 us. The weasel hunted well in the little low bank, and 

 seemed a good deal puzzled, staying there much longer than 

 the rat ; at last he seemed to have found out that the game 

 had taken to the turnips : here he pursued him with great 

 earnestness ; but, finding the trick that had been played to 



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